“’Of arms and the man I sing,’” over and over again? Yes, surely, to some degree. But the Resistance is also a complex and compelling tale after all of these years in part because it is almost entirely about what ordinary people did, in great adversity, and with great courage…colleagues, and often friends, coming together in small groups, two or three people talking and agreeing to take a deadly risk together.”

~Charles Potter, Editor, The Resistance, 1940

Last night I had the privilege to attend a local Chamber of Commerce dinner where a non-profit that I am involved in received an award. The dinner is an annual event — as it is in most municipalities around the country — meant to bolster community pride and to celebrate the hard work and civic efforts of those who care deeply about our community and its future.

These are important events, naturally, in the life of any tight-knit community. That is particularly true, I think, in smaller towns without an industrial base whose economic elasticity is always in question, and who therefore require a certain measure of tasteful boosterism in order to remain competitive in the pursuit of stability.

But in the middle of it all, and probably because I have lately been steeped in studies of the French Resistance, my mind took a strange turn.

Sitting amongst the many fine people in attendance, I couldn’t help but survey the room and wonder how the brighter lights in attendance — those gifted entrepreneurs, civic leaders, municipal officials, and politicians who drive the civic engine of our small community in the Cascades — might react under a sudden, violent, and overwhelming hostile invasion.

Forgive me. That’s just how my mind works after almost two decades of continually rehearsing scenarios — big and small — in a professional and personal effort to stay off the reservation and to retain an OODA loop advantage in a dogfight.

For emphasis: I do not believe a hostile army is invading tomorrow, or even next week, or next month, or anytime in the perceptible future.

Nevertheless, in an era when the word “Resistance” is bandied about rather cavalierly and, it appears, claimed by every emotional mass movement du jour, I think it’s worth thinking about what a worst-case scenario might actually look like.

And history is probably a decent guide for what we might expect.

It is fair, I think, to assume that amongst the polite company politely discussing the gossip and business of Sisters, and handing out awards over a catered meal and cocktails, there were those who would flee at the first hint of serious trouble on the horizon. Bags packed, apologies made, they would quickly become refugees on the crowded road to someplace else.

There would be some whose first and only thought would be to go internal, to scrape and claw for scraps with a mind focused solely on sandbagging their own bunker of bitterness.

There would, undoubtedly, be collaborators and 5th columnists, once amiable and reliable neighbors now denouncing their former colleagues and friends and embracing the invader for whatever advantage they might find in it.

There would be informants, for one side or another, virtually everywhere.

And there would probably be some — a very small percentage — whose passions would drive them instantly, or eventually, toward resistance. There would even be some whose passion for resistance would eventually morph into a blend of vigilantism and criminal behavior directed mostly at the defenseless neighbors they were purporting to help.

There would be some who simply died outright of shock.

These are but a few of the possibilities, but I think it fair to posit that amongst our cozy, amiable, and sold-out conference center, all of those potential behaviors were likely represented in the audience, discreetly camouflaged by enduring domestic tranquility and an evening meant to celebrate continued success and good fortune.

Just as it had been in Chartres, France, in 1939.

“It is around 5 p.m. In the courtyard of the Prefecture I have the unpleasant surprise of finding all of my staff packed into trucks and ready for departure. I had given direct orders that no one was to leave his post. Furious, I order my people to get out and I instruct each one of them to return to work, until further order.

“I can hardly recognize my staff. Some of the women are in a frightening state. Some of the men who only yesterday refused to go down to the basement during an air raid continue to work by my side are now scared stiff. Idem, a veteran of ’14, reputed to be very brave, who scarcely hours ago was ready to volunteer for a dangerous mission, has now completely lost control over himself.

“The winds of panic which up until now had passed them by now have the better of them. Nerves are frayed. Everybody has just one thought on their mind: to flee.

“I exhort them, I implore them. They obey and manage to find a kind of professional automatism, but I immediately sense that for the most part I can no longer count on my chief of staff or my personal secretary.”

~Jean Moulin, 9 a.m., June 14, 1940

Such is the nature of human psychology and reaction to foreign — or even domestic — invasion or occupation, one supposes, and I would make no predictions or judgments as to who at the Chamber of Commerce dinner might react in what way — mostly because history and literature teach us to expect surprises in that arena.

As my daydreaming looped around the room, I began to wonder who among us would have the fortitude, in the face of all that is truly evil, to behave with the bravery of Jean Moulin.

Moulin, probably the most widely known of the French Resistance greats, was also the author of Premier Combat, or First Fight, detailing the days leading up to, and immediately after, the Nazi invasion and occupation of Chartres. Because it was written so soon after the fact, and because Moulin’s ultimate fate (he was eventually informed on, captured, and tortured to death, probably by Klaus Barbie, The Butcher of Lyon) underwrites his integrity, the book is considered a foundational piece in the literature of the Resistance.

Jean Moulin was born in 1899, the son of a history professor. In 1918 he was conscripted into the French Army, but within weeks of his first posting the fateful armistice was signed and he returned home to join the civil service. Moulin, who was well educated and rarely idle in his lifetime, was firmly to the left in his politics, and a staunch believer in French Republican values, particularly as they are expressed in The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen. And, importantly, there was already a tradition of resistance — and consequence — in his family background. His grandfather had been imprisoned for defying a monarchist administration in the 1870s.

Contemporary with his rise in the civil service, Moulin was also friends with the radical socialist Pierre Cot, and during the Spanish Civil War Moulin worked to smuggle French aircraft and munitions to the Republican Army.

“This morning I am taking stock of the situation. It is a disaster. There is no longer any economic or administrative organization. An entire social construct to be rebuilt in frightening circumstances, under falling bombs, with an entire quarter of the city in flames, without water, without gas, without electricity, without telephones… I divide up the jobs, I dictate instructions; so that someone who, just yesterday, was the editor of the newspaper, is today expected to help me divide up emergency provisions; one of his colleagues, from the competing newspaper, will devote himself to the police and will head the small group of volunteers that we have pulled together. A teacher from a local parochial school has the task of burying the dead, who are, alas! numerous, being piled up in the hospital morgue and at the St. Brice hospice forty-nine were buried straight away in the courtyard of the hospital, thirteen at St. Brice’s, and thirty-four in the cemetery; or someone who will direct water duty aimed at assuring the supply of water to welcome centers, public facilities, bakeries; or someone else yet who will organize rounding up abandoned livestock and placing them in enclosures; others, finally, who will be in charge of picking up garbage, of sanitation, of fighting fires, of housing refugees, first aid for the sick and injured.”

~Jean Moulin, 8 a.m., June 15, 1940

Eventually, Moulin rose to the position of prefect of the Eure-et-Loir region and was posted in Chartres. The position was one of wide responsibility, a uniformed assignment combining elements of legal authority with civil responsibility. He was serving in this capacity when the Nazis first bombed, then invaded and occupied Chartres on June 14, 1940.

Simone Segouin, aka “Nicole Minet,” Hero of the Resistance.

What emerges from Moulin’s narrative is the story of a man whose commitment to liberal virtues was extraordinary. His composure and self-discipline under intense pressure were nothing short of astonishing, and he was able, in nearly unimaginable circumstances, to draw from a very deep reservoir of endurance, both psychological and physical.

And nowhere in the text is there a sense that his attempts to organize the remaining citizens of Chartres — to stave off famine, disease, and disorder even as hundreds of thousands of refugees were passing through and around his city — is driven by anything other than an embrace of duty, concern for his fellow citizens, and defense of the honor of France.

He wrote of the tremendous tasks before him: “…for the sake of all whose fate is in our hands; it must be done in order to present to the Germans, when they arrive, a social and moral framework worthy of our country.”

Moulin, writing in the present tense throughout, manages to convey his concerns without affectation, without becoming a boring scold, and without even a hint of self-pity. He is, profoundly, the portrait of a man embracing the familiar dictat to “improvise, adapt, and overcome.”

Jean Moulin had every opportunity to abandon his post, as many in similar positions all over France in fact did, but in the pages of Premier Combat we see a man instead preparing for the moment when he would have to stand in the courtyard of the prefecture, a representative of France, and come face to face with the Nazi commanders who only hours before were bombing the city, strafing refugees on the road, and sowing destruction in every direction.

That moment came early on June 17th, 1940, with Moulin and two others standing beneath the Tricolour:

“Suddenly motors are heard firing. The first motorcyclists pass, not without noticing in surprise the three individuals, immobile under the French colors.

It is 7 a.m.

Next come the self-propelled artillery. They slow down as they pass us, but they do not stop. Soon a big automobile comes and stops right in front of us, and several officers get out straightaway. Military salutes.

The oldest one, who is without a doubt their commander, steps forward and, in French, asks who we are.

I state that I am the Préfect and that I have at my sides the representative of the Bishop and the mayor of Chartres.

I add: ‘The fortunes of war have led you to enter our city as conquerors. We submit to the laws of war, and I am prepared to assure you that order will prevail if you, for your part, can assure us that your troops will respect the civil population, and especially the women and the children.’

To which the officer says to me: ‘You can be sure that German soldiers will respect the population. I am holding you, Monsieur le Préfet, responsible for public order and I invite you to remain in place. Tell all of your staff that the war is over for them.”

Within hours, Moulin observed wholesale looting all over Chartres. “In many cases,” he writes,

“…instead of working on their own, the Germans are using civilians whom they have come upon in the process of looting. Instead of punishing them, they have taken them under their protection and brought them to work in front of stores that interest them and get them to demolish the storefronts. When the way is cleared, they go in right behind the civilians.”

Much of his tireless work was undone in a matter of minutes, and what happened next falls into a familiar, and nonetheless horrifying pattern.

Resistance fighters, moments before their execution.

We are, perhaps, so inured to the horrors of Nazism by decades of film and television saturation — and by any number of subsequent murderous regimes across the globe — that we sometimes forget how refined in their brutality the Nazis actually were. Moulin’s tale returns humanity and immediacy to the equation, and refreshes our view of events in such a way as to return real evil to its proper and rarified place in our minds.

At 6 p.m., on June 17th, 1940, the same day he surrendered the city, Moulin was summoned from the prefect, where he was having a meal, by two young German officers. He was to meet the General, he was told, and received a stern lecture about what kind of behavior would be acceptable. One of the officers then began to tell him about supposed “atrocities” committed by French troops in retreat through Chartres. “Women and children,” the German said:

“French people, were massacred after having been raped. Some of your black troops did this, and France will bear the shame of it forever. Since this explanation of events has been proven beyond a doubt, it is appropriate that a document has been drawn up stating responsibility in this matter. It is in connection with this that the staff of the German army drew up an affidavit that will be signed by our general on behalf of the German army and by you as the Préfect of the department.”

It was an outrageous lie and Moulin, of course, refused to sign. His refusal was met with enraged beatings. He was battered with a rifle butt on his feet and ankles. He was kicked and beaten again with the rifle butt until he struggled even to stand. He was left standing late into the night under threat of more beatings if he fell. He was taken away in a car and shown the irrefutable proof of the atrocities. He was beaten again for refusing to agree to their origin. He was thrown into a shed where he landed on the mutilated body of a French woman. He was left inside with her body for hours. He was taken out and again beaten for refusing to sign. He was led to a contrived jail cell where finally, in the middle of the night, Moulin took a shard of glass and cut his own throat — an injury for which he wore a scarf every day for the rest of his short life.

But after all of that he never signed, and once released from custody due to his injury, Moulin was subsequently relieved of his duties as prefect by the Vichy government. He eventually made his way to England, where he joined the SOE, and parachuted back into France to organize the formal Resistance — with only a microfilm directive signed by De Gaulle as his bonafides.

Sitting in the Chamber of Commerce dinner last night, as various award winners were announced and came to the podium to give their acceptance speeches, I could not prevent myself from wondering: who here, amongst the honored guests and attendees, would ultimately refuse to sign?

Would I?

It’s probably impossible to answer that question without facing the same or similar circumstances. And it is partially that lingering question in ourselves that informs the greatness of a man like Moulin, who we know as a matter of historical fact refused to sign, even when he had every right and reason to simply comply and be done with it.

But a man like Moulin, one thinks, probably could not have lived with himself had he abandoned his values. He would rather die than give up on his neighbors, or himself, or the dream of a Free France, which is one reason he mutilated himself in his jail cell. His inclination toward resistance, and his understanding of the concept, was not of the sandwich-board, hashtag, or pussy hat variety, those shallow notions of modern resistance which seek their strength in numbers and the anonymity it affords.

Moulin stood virtually alone against the might of Nazi Germany.

Accused of collaboration, a woman is taken to have her head shaved. Chartres.

And I think that is the critical point. It is his earlier actions, the days that fill the pages of Premier Combat, before he became a celebrated leader of the broader Resistance, that recommends him most. And it is this part of him, the incredible focus, stamina, and fortitude, that I hope our civic leaders are studying.

Because what distinguishes Moulin, finally, is that he gave the very best of himself at precisely that moment when vulnerable people needed him the most. That was his first fight, and that agonizing combat for possession of himself is most instructional, I think, when we remember those moments when he refused to abandon his post, when he worked tirelessly to find the last two bakers left in the city to bake bread for the starving, when he toured the bomb shelters, when he escorted a blind man down the road and out of town, when he faced down angry mobs alone, when he searched basements to find the elderly and infirm to see them evacuated, when he berated cowardly looters and thieves, when he fought fires and buried the dead, when he braved bombardment and strafing — driving against the traffic of a retreating French army — to scout the German positions outside the city, and when finally he stood, abandoned by his neighbors, to offer the surrender of his city to the German war machine with dignity.

I would like to believe that our civic leaders would behave in the manner of Jean Moulin, and win the first fight. I would like to believe that I would. But all of that is predicated on an enduring belief that what one is standing up for remains worthy of preservation.

Do we maintain that kind of fire for our Republic? Is the slow and inevitable collapse of our empire extinguishing the flame? Is the division we see all around us actually evidence of a fabric irreparably torn?

Let us hope that our belief in freedom is never put to the acid test of torture and brutality. Let us hope that on the eve of some cataclysm we never have to write what Moulin wrote as the Wehrmacht sat poised to enter the city he loved:

Craig Rullman is an award-winning journalist, freelance writer, and columnist for The Nugget Newspaper, in Sisters, Oregon. A veteran of the United States Marine Corps, he is a former police detective and SWAT Team Leader. Mr. Rullman holds an M.A. from Northern Arizona University, and...

Comments

I just recently read “The Zookeeper’s Wife”, about how one family in Poland, who ran the Warsaw zoo, secretly provided refuge and eventual escape for numerous Jews and others targeted by the occupying Nazis, and right under their noses in their zoo! INCREDIBLE story, and yet full of the horror and sadistic tragedy that is part-and-parcel of all the Nazi occupation accounts. EVERYONE should read of such accounts, at some point, to remember just HOW BAD things can get–virtually overnight in many cases, and how precious freedom and fair governing is, despite its imperfections. Sometimes, alas, it takes the severe threat of losing it–or ACTUALLY losing it for a while, to make people finally appreciate it fully. Is that what is going to have to happen in the U. S. A. to bring all these stupid opposing factions together again? I have often pondered what exactly I would do, did such an invasion occur–rather like that classic movie “Red Dawn”(and the not-so-bad remake!). I WOULD NOT try to hold any ground, but wouldn’t hesitate to retreat, regardless of anyone’s foolish notion this was cowardice. It’s just simple common sense against overwhelming odds! Then one strikes from the fringes–retreats–and strikes again and again–classic guerrilla warfare–the only real hope of resistance against such odds. All these same tactics are exactly why the Apaches survived and held out as long as they did. Not to take any of the heroism away from anyone like this amazing Moulin fellow–thanks for letting me learn something about him! It sounds like his greatest mistake was at first thinking any damn Nazi leader could be capable of humanity and honor.…..

Moulin was under no false impressions about the Nazis–but his position in the city, and his personal code of honor would not allow him to abandon his post. He felt a personal responsibility to do as much as he could for his city, which was being destroyed all around him. His accounts of the destruction visited upon the city, and the subsequent humanitarian disasters are compelling, and inform his decision to do whatever he could to alleviate what he knew was coming.

I have spent the past couple of weeks wrapped tightly around the axle of radical underground domestic terrorism. Those involved in the “movements” of the 1970s up into the 1990s — left and right — styled themselves as a revolutionary “Resistance.” And the Nazis certainly viewed the Resistance as “domestic terrorism.”

Yet, despite superficial optics, the realities are unrelated; the contrasts could not be more stark. Why?

This is reductive, but, I think, accurate: Moulin, like many (most?) resisters, was a solid citizen with responsibilities who did what he had to do in horrific circumstances that were forced upon him. The self-styled “radicals” of the underground were largely misfits working out their own psycho-dramas. They also pulled some more-or-less stable individuals into their orbit, to those individuals’ everlasting shame.

“The permanent misfits can find salvation only in a complete separation from the self; and they usually find it by losing themselves in the compact collectivity of a mass movement.” — Eric Hoffer

during the Vietnam war there was a force of resistance evolving within the military ranks. especially in the combat zone. let alone what was happening back here in “the world”, with the civilian resistance. by the time i was drafted, 1970, i suppose the evolution of resistance in the military was at its climax, so much talk about fragging the “lifers”, fragging the officers.…..by 1970 the country was pretty much sick of the never ending war. in Vietnam, even the “brothers” were in enhanced resistance, growing out the afro, wearing bright and colorful ascots in the neck of their fatigues (!), and most of all greeting each other with the “dap” a face to face greet with plenty of motion and sometimes lasting for minutes. note: this resistant behavior seemed to be more in the rear areas, out on the firebases and infantry patrols you could say it was more “business as usual”. it seems to me in hindsight, if something very wrong (Vietnam war) cannot be cured by the powers that be, then perhaps the only remedy is resistance? but to this day, i feel some shame and disappointment of how we demonstrated our resistance within the military (i even felt it during my tour), as i now know it was the goddam politicians that ran that search and destroy mission, and not so much the hand tied military.….…

“i feel some shame and disappointment of how we demonstrated our resistance within the military”

The problem with military service, at least in my era, is that it sets up an unusual confliction in the heart. I loved my time in the Marine Corps, and for as long as I live I will have tremendous respect for the people I served with. One learns how efficient teams can be and what they can accomplish–sometimes by force of will alone–and is ever-after afflicted with a longing to rediscover that kind of camaraderie, sense of mission, and belonging. On our worst day we were a formidable bunch. That sort of deeply seated love, affection, and hell-bent tribalism does not exist at all in civilian life, and to a much lesser degree in the law-enforcement world. Military service is often derided for a kind of automaton thinking, which is both ignorant and also entirely misses the last sixty years of military thinking. Many of the brighter minds I know and respect have service in their background, or are still serving on active duty, and their intellects stack up extremely well against all comers. People often forget that every civilian job also exists inside the military. At any rate, my .02 cents is that you have nothing to be ashamed of. Accidents of time and place and sentiment are unavoidable. Our job is to engage in endless debriefs and to apply the lessons learned. It is the best we can ever do, and it is a large part of what we are attempting in these pages. Thanks for being here, thanks for your service, and thanks for taking the time to comment. It is much appreciated.

I remember reading a post of a veteran of the first Iraq war who said in his experience he saw more diversity of opinion in the military than in college. He was shouted down for unpopular opinions in college, while in the military they had frank conversations. He noted that he actually had a CO who was a member of the Communist party. This was before “safe spaces” and “trigger warnings” too.

A friend of mine who served in the Marine Corps in Iraq told me that he and his fellow Marines had lengthy, ongoing, vigorous debates about the validity, legality and/or wisdom of their being in Iraq. He read armloads of books on the subject when he returned, trying to sort out what he experienced. I can pretty much guarantee that those Marines were more rigorous in pursuing truth than most college students are willing to be. The pressure for conformity on campus is tremendous.

My experience is similar. Our conversations were frank, often heated, and came with all of the opposing views one imagines when bringing people in from all points of the country. The Marine Corps has done a very good job of teaching the art of the debrief, and extracting the important “lessons learned” portion of that discussion. As a culture, it also encourages making mistakes as part of the learning curve. That runs contrary to popular perception, but is entirely true. I’ve often said that the most open minded people I’ve ever met weren’t on a university campus, they were usually sitting on a horse in the middle of the desert, or in a fighting hole in the sands of Araby.

Riveting story. Chilling real-time scenario. I wish that a courageous community peopled with a few superior strategic thinkers could do the trick, but I think any resistance is doomed unless it is a well-armed resistance. Should the unthinkable happen, I hope my neighbors had the same hunch, and that there are a few Moulins among us.

I think you are right, unless it is well-armed and well-led it is essentially doomed. Particularly in the age of “Gorgon Stare” and other technologies that see virtually everything. Civil disobedience and peaceful protests only work after a certain tipping point, and they seem to work best when they are backed with a threat of never-ending violence. I often have to talk sense into some of my more militant friends who suffer from Rambo complex, in order to explain to them exactly the kind of firepower and tactical complexity they would be facing in their fantasy scenarios. They either don’t believe me, or endeavor to get more serious about their thinking. Like you, I hope it never comes to any of that, and I certainly don’t advocate it, but history is history and virtually anything is possible.

This is a very poignant and powerful story.
I hold up WW II as a best example of bringing initially untrained and not professional soldiers (and others) that rose to unheralded gallantry. No better example than this. No better example of what can go terribly wrong as well. Also duly noted and duly respected are those that fought in every war since which includes your faithful service. We are all caught up in a terrible dilemma. It may be forced on us however. The question remains from what direction does it come? My greatest concern is from within for all kinds of reasons. You are very cognizant (as is Jim) what all the risks are. You pointed out yourself about the “Gorgon Stare”. So if you would please offer your concern as to the greatest enemy we face. For my money it is a worsening diviseness in our own country and an alienation in the world. We are floundering like hell even though we hold every tool to be otherwise.

I do not question your honor, integrity or intention. Yes, we may disagree no doubt. That’s what it’s all about in my book. I have seen blind loyalty turn fatal to the truth too many times. You know this well I am sure. Moulin stood pat. My guess is that you would too. It just happens that a 2016 Documentary came on PBS tonight DO NOT RESIST..Maybe you have seen it, maybe you have not. There is always two sides to every story. This one I feel is worth a look and brings up to now. I never choose to exaggerate an issue. You have lived this close to the skin and bone and close to the heart. I would really appreciate your take on it. You are an admirable essayist and I do not say that lightly. I also know your dilemma of being a hammer trained to seek a nail. You cannot undo that easily even if you chose to. As you said OODA Loop for your chosen decision tree (militarily and otherwise). How does it fit up here?
Respectfully,
— ST

Some more thoughts on Moulin. This is such a superbly presented, provocative piece. As I have been pondering your hypotheticals, and likely because of the Viet Nam references, the Woodstock-era lyrics “What are we fighting for?” came to mind. And I think that is the core of your questions about how we would react under threat to our empire. I read history. I know we did a lot of bad sh** to “get where we got”. But as one who mourns the passing of the uniquely American values I grew up with, I have to say I do not know how much I would be willing to sacrifice for my fellow countrymen who did not and do not respect and live by those values. Would I be Moulin for my children? Absolutely. For my fellow citizens who share my values and who would honor a pact to band together and each do our part? I believe so. For the empire at large as it now stands and looks to be headed, at least as presented to us daily on the network news? I have to admit I might be one “whose first and only thought would be to go internal, to scrape and claw for scraps with a mind focused solely on sandbagging their own bunker …“ not “of bitterness” but for survival. Great piece.

“But as one who mourns the passing of the uniquely American values I grew up with, I have to say I do not know how much I would be willing to sacrifice for my fellow countrymen who did not and do not respect and live by those values.”

That’s the rub, I think. Because there are many who would undo the fine work that has been done to form a “more perfect society.” Nobody in their right mind has ever believed it was simply perfect, but it only takes a lap or two around the world to realize how marvelous it really is here, warts and all. I suppose that every generation, as it ages, feels some sense of mourning for what look like the halcyon days of their youth–I do–but I keep trying to remind myself that nothing is static. And this American tension runs all the way back to William Bradford at Plymouth Colony. He watched his dream disintegrate over the years, always just out of reach. Some of that tension in the modern world stems from the sheer size of the nation, and the challenge of holding 320 million people together on the basis of an idea. Thank you for the kind words, and for being here, and taking the time to comment. It is very much appreciated.

i made a commentary earlier, about resistance in the military (as i saw it) during the Vietnam war (circa 1970). i spent several days waiting for a flight over to s.e. asia, in Oakland, California in a huge troop depot. while sitting on my bunk a buck sergeant approached & flung his duffel on the bunk next to mine. he had colored lens shades covering his eyes. he sparked the conversation with “what’s your mos” (military occupation). i told him airmobile field artillery. “ah, he responded, i’m infantry and we call in the artillery sometimes for our “light shows”.” i’m heading for my 4th nam tour. 2 have been ordered and 2 were voluntary”. when he opened the duffel, out of it dropped a book, “do it” by jerry rubin, a counterculture, stinging manifesto against a lot of what was American culture at the time. i was already in nervous mode wondering what to xpect in Vietnam, this encounter gave me a new and different view of expectations.….…

There it is. One of the principle reasons I believe in an all-volunteer military is that really should consist of people who want to be there–it might even serve as a check on adventurism. At any rate, I used to have long talks with one of the Navajos in my platoon about Carlos Castaneda. The Navajo told me he wasn’t worrying about ever being injured or killed because he would turn himself into a cricket and hop away. LOL. Takes all kinds. Thanks, Tom.

Reading Noam Chomsky may be the preferred way. Not the most animated voice for sure, but distinct. I bought several cd’s though. No matter what it is inevitably a description of a not so pretty [sic] picture of empire. A tedious dry ride but it would most certainly point to the advantage of being a hopping away cricket…
Been on his bridge and what a spectacular view of Hoover Dam it is.

I have my “issues” with Chomsky, but he’s really important reading on the American Empire. As is Chalmers Johnson. But, yeah, listening to Chomsky at length would be tedious. A good reader is essential for audio books.

Indeed!
Yes, Johnson from his even more unique perspective may have been too [scarily] prescient in his assessment. We walk an even [tighter] tight rope today. Chomsky, if anything at all, cracks open the naïveté of anyone willing to take a look at our hypocrisy. I have “issues” myself with about everything and everyone, but look for the strongest wind in the sails navigating by an open eye at the wheel. By the way, for those not familiar with The Mike O’Callaghan–Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge, it is an arch bridge that spans the Colorado River in above and in front of the Hoover Dam. The Arizona side of the bridge is dedicated to Pat Tillman. It is best experienced by walking out on it. Even better is to walk the entire dam and go down to see the turbines maintained and looking like they were just made yesterday. Yes, I have qualms myself with dams, but if you are going to have them they don’t get any better than this. That is not to say that, for example the series of dams on the Columbia River are not impressive engineering marvels in their own right. They are, but the Hoover Dam is most definitely and iconically American (but I digress). Pat Tillman looms large above it…

I love the experiential aspect you bring to the campfire from your travels, ST. Craig and I rolled across the Hoover on our raid into Arizona last year — my first time. It is a marvel.

Re: “Issues.” It’s always important to read with a critical eye and ear (which is tough to silence sometimes to read for pure enjoyment) and read widely. I’ve gained as much from reading people I profoundly disagree with as I have from people who I am in sympathy with. I read a LOT about people I find fascinating but don’t “like.” It takes discipline and a certain rigor to do that, and I’m proud of it. Like doing burpees even though nobody’s forcing me to. Being willing to have your own naivete — or biases and temperamental preferences — “cracked open” is not necessarily a pleasant experience, but it is critical if we’re really going to “navigate by an open eye.”